


Here to Stay

by fireandhoney



Series: Here to Stay [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Plot Twist, Short Story, Theft, There's a case, Violence, au kinda, but it's not main plot, firearms, friendship to maybe more, mentions of abuse, mentions of sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28156479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireandhoney/pseuds/fireandhoney
Summary: A little window into their life, through a case
Relationships: Johnlock, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Here to Stay [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062764
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Here to Stay

They walked to the crime scene together, splitting up as they reached Lestrade. Sherlock ignored everyone and got to work, examining everything, and John stopped to speak with the detective-inspector.  
  
"Hey, thanks for coming!"  
  
"Actually, I should be the one thanking you. Six days without a case, I was about to consider becoming a murderer myself."  
  
“So there’d be a case?”  
  
John paused and shrugged. “That too.”  
  
Greg laughed. "You know he would come back and haunt us as he investigated his own murder, we'll never be rid of him."  
  
John smiled and observed the consulting detective who was now kneeling by the body, using his tiny magnifying glass over the victim's fingertips.  
  
"Not that we'd want to, though."  
  
"Bloody no, God knows I need him," the DI agreed, nodding. He let out a small chuckle and nudged John in the ribs.   
  
"And he knows you need him too."  
  
John rolled his eyes and shook his head but still, his smile didn't waver.  
  
"I'll go check up on him, yeah?"  
  
  
He left Lestrade to deal with his officers and walked closer. He gestured for Sherlock to look at him and once he got his attention, he asked "Anything yet?"  
  
"6 possibilities. Well, 5."  
  
He walked around the corpse and pointed at the shoes, one still worn and the other a few feet away.   
  
"The location of the second shoe clearly indicates they were running and fell down, but why? What made them fall?"  
  
"Maybe they tripped?"  
  
Sherlock shook his head, not hiding how ridiculous he found that idea.  
  
"Something, or more precisely someone, hit them in the back of the head. Look here."  
  
Sherlock knelt back down and put on gloves, delicately picking up the victim's hair. He moved them aside to show contusions on the back of the skull and neck. He let go of the hair and turned back towards John.  
  
"Looks like the object was blunt and heavy, but not enough to be hard to swing around."  
  
John nodded his understanding. He took a step closer and leaned down.  
  
"Can I help?"  
  
"Ask Lestrade to look around for a golf club, possibly a driver or a fairway woods."  
  
"Okay."  
  
  
John did as was told, leaving Sherlock to continue his examination.  
  
"Says to look for golf clubs, don't ask me why."  
  
Lestrade gathered his team and sent officers on the lookout. When he came back, John was lost in his thoughts.  
  
"Alright there?"  
  
The ex-soldier blinked, startled, and moved his eyes away from his flatmate.  
  
"Yeah, it's just… Tiredness is all."  
  
"I can't imagine it's very relaxing to live with someone like Sherlock Holmes."  
  
"You'd be right. During cases, it's non-stop chases and late nights working and the flat's a mess. And between cases, well, it's worse."  
  
"Is he still composing music in the middle of the night?"  
  
John sighed, a mixture of amusement and annoyance.  
  
"Seems like it's the only thing keeping him from shooting up the wall. Don’t get me wrong, it is very impressive, but… Lucky him, not giving a damn about the noise at 2 am. He's not the one who has to deal with the angry neighbours. Thank God Mrs Hudson is comprehensive, because we would have been kicked out a long time ago otherwise."  
  
Greg gave him a compassionate smile.  
  
"You're a good man, John. I'm really glad he's got you to take care of him… Life hasn't been exactly easy for him. I'm sure Mycroft told you when you met him, but it's always been hard for Sherlock to relate and communicate with others. He never had, uhh.."  
  
"Friends?" John suggested.  
  
"Yeah, friends, or anyone really. He never managed to trust someone enough to get close to them. So, thank you for being there for him… and also to make sure he doesn't end up murdered in his sleep."  
  
"If he does, you'll have your motive and your suspect," John chuckled and Lestrade joined in, shaking his head. In the meantime, Sherlock finished up and walked up to them, standing by John’s side and looking at them impatiently. The two turned towards him.  
  
“Ready to go?”  
  
Sherlock nodded, and as him and John started walking away, Lestrade shouted “Call me if he thinks of anything!”  
  
John waved his hand, acknowledging the words, as Sherlock hailed them a cab.

  
John gave the driver the address as they sat down. They rode in silence all the way back, occasionally sharing a smile. When they got to Baker Street, John paid the cabbie as Sherlock stepped out and unlocked the door of 221. They climbed the stairs together, Sherlock going to make some tea as John opened up his laptop to check his blog. Everything felt so familiar, their own little ritual. Within a few minutes, they ended up in their seats by the fireplace, cup of tea in hand, Sherlock focused on his mobile and John answering some emails. Comfortable, cozy, home. John looked up subtly over the edge of his screen, observing the man in front of him. Whenever they sat like this, in comfortable silence, John couldn't help thinking of how grateful he was for that one afternoon stroll in the park. He thought of how much his life changed since this madman borrowed his phone at Bart's. He had never felt more at peace, he had never belonged like he did here, in Baker Street, with Sherlock Holmes. Suddenly, grey-blue eyes stared back at him and he felt soft warmth rising to his cheeks. He returned Sherlock's smile and moved his computer to the side as Sherlock placed his mobile on the coffee table.  
  
"You were thinking about the past."  
  
John nodded.  
  
"The past and the present. How did you know?"  
  
"You look sad when you think of your past."  
  
John pondered over that affirmation.  
  
"I guess that's fair. I also thought about this." John motioned around them.  
  
"What about this?"  
  
"That I am glad I'm here, with you."  
  
Sherlock appeared shocked for a moment, but it quickly passed as he looked down, avoiding John's gaze. Wanting to keep talking, John leaned forward and put a hand on Sherlock's knee. Once he got his roommate's attention, he continued.  
  
"We've been living together for about 8 months now and I enjoy this life of ours."  
  
Sherlock tried to interrupt, saying "We should focus on the case" but John didn't stop.  
  
"I know you said you don't do sentiment, Sherlock. But I also know you aren't really as cold as you pretend to be in public. Therefore, it's important for me that you know how much this all means to me."  
  
Sherlock showed he understood, then turned towards the fireplace. John sighed, and as it was clear the discussion wouldn't go further, he picked his computer back up and went back to his emails.  
  
Later on, as John was getting up to make some more tea, his mobile rang. He answered the call and as Lestrade told him they'd found a second body, he quickly went back to the living room, taping Sherlock on the shoulder. The detective looked up and when he noticed the phone, he immediately got ready to leave, tying on his scarf and putting on his coat.  
  
John made sure to grab his gun and followed suit, joining Sherlock on the pavement. Within a couple minutes, a cab picked them up and John gave instructions to the cabbie.

  
Once the car was on the road, John took the time to explain the situation to Sherlock.  
  
"They found another body, similar abandoned building, same marks on the back of the head. Lestrade said he'd have more details when we get there, but you were right: there was a bloody driver club on the scene."  
  
Sherlock's eyes glossed over and John knew it was pointless to keep talking, the detective was gone far away in his mind palace. He wasn't seeing anymore.  
  
Twenty five minutes later, they slipped under the police tape and entered the old factory. Lestrade was waiting for them inside the front door.  
  
"Hey there John!" The DI nodded at Sherlock, who returned the gesture, and they started walking towards the location of the body.  
  
"The teenager who called in said he'd heard a loud noise, and as he rushed upstairs, he saw someone running away. Thinks it was a man, probably around 5'9" or 5'10". He was holding the golf club and dropped it on the stairs, not sure if it was to focus on escaping quickly or an accident."  
  
Sherlock took in his surroundings, walking around and looking at everything. He did a quick examination of the body, but it didn't seem to interest him much. When he was satisfied, he turned to John who transmitted all the information Lestrade had given him.  
  
"And where is the club now?"  
  
John shrugged and asked Lestrade.  
  
"Hey Greg, Sherlock wants to see the club, where is it?"  
  
"I told them to leave it where it was found, just around the corner and down two stairs."   
  
The DI pointed to the other side of the room. Sherlock got the message and headed that way. As he didn't motion for him to follow, John stayed behind. Lestrade walked up and stood next to him, his hands in his pockets.  
  
"Am I wrong, or am I sensing some tension?"  
  
John took a long breath.  
  
"How do you deal with someone pretending they don't care about anything or anyone when you know it's just not true?"  
  
"I don't know, mate. You know him better than I do."  
  
"You've known him for five years, has he never talked to you, opened up, about anything?"  
  
The detective-inspector shook his head.  
  
"I can work with him on a professional level, but… I'm pretty sure he doesn't even consider me a friend."  
  
"Oh, don't say that, you know he values you greatly."  
  
"Sure, but would he refer to me as a friend or as a colleague?"  
  
John stayed silent, acknowledging the statement.  
  
"It's just how he is, John. At least, with me. You can't take it personally. He's never been… affectionate. Emotionally available."  
  
"I guess not."  
  
"And John, between us, you understand him better than anyone else ever could. Something about you made him feel comfortable enough to not only tolerate your presence, but seek it. I'm not sure what it means, but that's already a lot coming from him. More than I ever expected to see."  
  
"Well, I can actually talk with him, that sets me apart-"  
  
"Yes," Lestrade interrupted. "but there's more. And I know you know it too."  
  
John looked at him, his brow furrowed questioningly, but he was forced to admit his friend was right. He only had to think of Mycroft, who could perfectly talk with Sherlock, but the two men never seemed to understand each other truly. Or, they didn't want to. And that made for strained relations.  
  
"I tried talking to him earlier. About… about things."  
  
"And it didn't go as you'd hoped?"  
  
"He wasn't exactly receptive."  
  
Lestrade gave him a friendly tap on the back.  
  
"You've got to give him time, this is all new to him."  
  
John nodded, sighing.  
  
"You're right. Of course you're right. Well, no matter if he gets there or not, he's got me. I'm here to stay, unless he doesn't want me to anymore."  
  
His thoughts went back to Sherlock, and he realized he'd been gone for quite some time.  
  
"I'll go see what's taking so long."  
  
"Alright, let me know if you need anything. And John? That means you as well."  
  
"Thank you, Greg."

  
John headed towards the stairs where Sherlock had disappeared. He found him sitting down on the steps by the golf club, busy typing on his phone. As John softly placed his hand on his shoulder, Sherlock shivered, startled. He turned towards his flatmate, put his mobile away in his pocket and stood. He smoothed over his suit, then started explaining.  
  
"I think our suspect is still around, or they're going to come back."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"This golf club is worth thousands of dollars."  
  
John looked at the amateur weapon with surprise.  
  
"Then I would say you are probably right."  
  
  
As he finished his sentence, everything froze. It was as if life had become slow motion. John’s head started hurting and his vision blurred, he moved his hands over his ringing ears instinctively and went to crouch, losing his balance. Strong arms caught him before he could fall. His heart started beating rapidly and he fought to catch his breath. He blinked many times, and after what felt like 5 minutes but was realistically only a few seconds, he saw Sherlock's shocked and horrified face staring back at him. He tried to say something, but his throat was dry and he knew it was no use. Instead, he focused on freeing his arms from Sherlock's grip. As soon as he could, he started repeating.   
  
"I'm okay, I'm okay!"  
  
Sherlock didn't let go of his shoulders, but looked around, noticing the bullet hole in the wall behind John. He turned around, trying to spot the gunman. He grabbed John tightly against himself and forced him backwards up the stairs, until they rounded the corner and were out of direct line from the attacker.  
John felt his back hit the wall and closed his eyes against the shock. His hearing was slowly coming back and he could identify Lestrade's voice yelling commands to his officers, and a dozen running footsteps around them.   
  
Eventually, the DI's voice got closer and John heard him ask worriedly "Are you two okay?"  
  
John did his best to mumble. "Yes, I think."  
  
He could still feel Sherlock's grip on him and he opened his eyes, staring into the detective's. Sherlock was taking deep breaths, focused solely on him. John had always felt a bit intimidated when under scrutiny by those piercing blue eyes, but this was entirely different. This was worry and care, not analyze.  
He gave a small smile and nodded, motioning for Sherlock to give him some space.   
  
Once free, he asked "Are you okay?"  
  
"I am, are you?"  
  
"Yes, I'm okay. What happened?"  
  
"Someone tried to shoot you. I'm sorry I didn't hea-."  
  
John shook his head.  
  
"Hey, don't do that. It's not your fault!"  
  
Sherlock looked down, his expression sad and guilty. John grabbed his right shoulder and rubbed down his upper arm a few times, until Sherlock glanced up at him again. He let go of his arm and smiled.  
  
"It's not your fault, I promise, Sherlock."  
  
He could tell the detective was feeling increasingly restless, especially with the MET officers running around them.  
  
They turned towards Lestrade, who was giving them some privacy, standing a couple feet away.  
  
John noticed his knowing gaze and rolled his eyes. "Where do you want us?"  
  
"I sent officers down to every exit, so unless they jump out of a window, we'll catch them. I'm sure Sherlock will want to interrogate them, but for the moment, it might be best to keep him away, at least if we want to make sure our suspect makes it alive to the Yard."  
  
John gave him a thumbs up and the DI left them alone to go find his team.  
  
Sherlock nudged John. "I know he's worried about me, but I'm okay."  
  
"He'll be needing you to explain everything and question the suspect later, but it's safer for both of us to wait here while his officers catch our criminal."  
  
Sherlock protested. "I don't want to stay here while the gunman who shot at you is escaping!"  
  
"Sherlock! You can get angry later, but right now, we need to stay focused. Did you have everything you needed from the scene to incriminate them?"  
  
Sherlock acquiesced. "Of course I do, John. You know me."  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry I doubted the great Sherlock Holmes!"  
  
John started smiling and shook his head, which promptly wiped the smile off his face. The pain came back soaring in his brain and his brows furrowed in suffering. He closed his eyes and leaned backwards, seeking the support of the wall as he moved to sit on the ground. He was nauseous and couldn’t focus on anything, until he felt Sherlock’s hands on his. The warmth on his temples made his eyes tear up and he breathed deeply, whispering “Sherlock…”  
  
He took a moment to ground himself, calming the pulsations in his mind. When he was able to concentrate his attention back to reality, he opened his eyes.  
Instantly, Sherlock backed up, letting go of John to give him space.  
  
“Are you okay? Do you need medical attention?”  
  
John took a deep breath.  
  
“No, I’ll be okay. It’s just a pressure headache, because of the gunshot’s noise. I just need to be patient, it’ll pass.”  
  
“Do you want to go back home? I’ll get us a cab.”  
  
  
John frowned and paid attention to his expression. For Sherlock Holmes, nothing ever came before the Work. His entire life was organized in a way to prevent him from losing focus during a case, and no distractions were allowed. John couldn’t stop himself from being incredibly touched by the compassionate thought. He smiled, touching Sherlock’s cheek with his fingertips softly.   
  
As he moved his hand down, he answered “It won’t be necessary, but thank you. That is very nice of you to offer.”  
  
A small blush crept up Sherlock’s features and he nodded. He extended an arm to John, who grabbed his hand and let himself be helped up. As they stood, replacing their clothes and Sherlock ruffling his hair, Lestrade jogged up to them.  
  
“We got him, on his way to the Yard as we speak.”  
  
The two flatmates looked at each other, and with a silent acknowledgement, followed Lestrade outside. As they approached the kerb, John spoke up.  
  
“We’ll take a cab and meet you there.”  
  
“Of course, see you then!”  
  
  
Lestrade jumped in his car and drove off as Sherlock and John made their way to a bigger street to hail a cab. They stayed in a slightly uncomfortable silence until they were seated side by side in the back of the black car headed to New Scotland Yard.  
John was looking out the window when Sherlock touched his arm, asking for his attention.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“You don’t have to be sorry, Sherlock. It wasn’t your fault.”  
  
Sherlock shook his head.  
  
“No, not that. I am sorry I…” He hesitated, avoiding John’s gaze for a moment, before he continued. “I’m sorry I’m not good at this.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I’m not good at… this.” Sherlock gestured at the space between them.   
  
John opened his mouth, letting out a small “Oh.”  
  
Sherlock looked at his lips and nodded.  
  
“You were obviously hurt by my reaction earlier and I apologize. I am not good at these things… Sentiment, and all.”  
  
“It’s okay, Sherlock. You don’t have to be.”  
  
“I know, but I want to try.”  
  
John’s heart beat fast in his chest and he put his hands on his lap, fumbling with his fingers. He leaned his head on the side, allowing Sherlock to continue.  
  
“I, too, enjoy this life of ours. And I am glad you’re here. I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with.”  
  
The lights of the city outside the windows shined in Sherlock’s eyes and John’s smile was soft.  
  
“I’m happy I’m here too.”  
  
Sherlock returned the smile more confidently, taking a visible deep breath of relief. The ambience turned comfortable, warm even, and it was with regret that they looked out at the famous NSY sign.  
  
“Time for battle?” John asked, paying their fare.  
  
Sherlock turned his coat collar up with a sharp nod of his head.

  
They stepped out and walked side by side into the Yard. As it always did, their presence caused discussions around them, people moving around to comment on Sherlock, on their assumed relationship, on their legitimacy. John ignored them all and moved on, saddened for Sherlock. He knew the detective noticed them all and even though he didn’t say anything, it was impossible for him to be totally unaffected by their judgement. He let his elbow touch Sherlock’s arm as they walked, reminding him that he’s not alone: John’s there next to him.  
  
Lestrade met them by the counters and together, they made their way to the interrogation room where the suspect was being kept.  
  
“I’ll go in and do the questioning, you two can stay in the back room.” He gave an earpiece to John and put on the second one, then turned to Sherlock.  
  
“If you see anything…” The DI waved his phone and Sherlock nodded.   
  
The three of them entered the corresponding rooms.  
  
Lestrade guided the interrogation, first asking the suspect to identify and then explaining what he’d been arrested for. John was standing to the side, at an angle as to face Sherlock but also be able to look at the proceedings easily. He repeated everything the suspect said, making sure Sherlock understood what was going on.  
  
A few minutes in, Sherlock took out his mobile and sent a text. Lestrade picked up his own phone from the table and read it quickly, then asked “Tell me about your father’s job.”  
  
The young man hesitated for a few minutes, then explained that his father worked as a security agent at one of London’s most prestigious golf courses. Lestrade followed with questions and affirmations leading him to admit that he’d sneaked in and stolen one of the clubs displayed in the clubhouse, hence why he’d been in possession of such an expensive item. Now remained the question of the murders.  
  
John pushed on his earpiece, making sure it worked, and said “Sherlock wants you to ask about the influence of sexual assault on his scholarship.”   
  
The detective-inspector followed the lead and the young man paled, moving as if he wanted to get up but realized he couldn’t. He got angrier, pulling on his handcuffs, knowing he was caught. Lestrade stood up, announcing “I think we’ve got everything we need” and exited the room.   
  
John looked at Sherlock, who was still staring at the criminal.  
  
“That was great work, amazing.”  
  
Sherlock waved him off. “You can go see Lestrade, I’ll stay here a minute.”  
  
John nodded, placing a hand on Sherlock’s upper arm as he walked by and leaving the room.  
  
  
“He needs a moment to classify the data?”  
  
“Yeah, shouldn’t be too long.” John took out his earpiece and handed it back.  
  
“These things go much smoother now that you’re here, John. We’re lucky you two found each other.”  
  
“You know my opinion on this, Greg. It should be mandatory for all officers to know at least the basics. I made it a mandate for the soldiers on my team. But then again, I wouldn’t be able to moderate what he says.”  
  
The detective-inspector frowned, confused, and John smirked.  
  
“Let’s say I sometimes… soften the remarks he makes. I don’t say exactly what he says and I hope no one understands. Just to protect his face from being punched in.”  
  
“Ah. That makes sense. You’re protecting his public image.” Lestrade laughed, reorganizing his files in a folder.  
  
“But he shouldn’t have to rely on me to be able to insult others, or be a consultant on cases. Not that he couldn’t before, but you know what I mean.”  
  
“Even if everyone could use BSL, he would still need you to translate what he’s really thinking. You’re the only one who understands him.”  
  
John conceded. “You’re right, I guess. Deaf or not, he’d need me to tell his stories, to be his connection to the outside world.”   
  
The ex-soldier sighed, looking at the door behind which was still standing his best friend and flatmate.  
  
“I don’t think I’ll ever get over how sad it is that he’ll never hear how beautiful his violin pieces are.”  
  
  
At that moment, Sherlock walked out and looked at the two of them.  
  
“I clearly missed something here.”  
  
John shrugged, giving Lestrade a look, and signed “I was just about to come get you. Ready to go home?”  
  
The consulting detective raised a suspicious eyebrow, but didn’t push the question. His already gloved hands moved through the air as he answered.  
  
“Of course. Let’s go, John.”  
  
They waved goodbye to Lestrade and left, their arms brushing as they looked at each other and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've had this idea in my head for a while and although I'm sure it has been done before, I wanted to try my shot, and I honestly fell in love with these two. I am sure I will revisit them at some point in the future, they were absolutely lovely and had so much to tell me that I didn't get to include here. I posted this piece in a series, that way if you're interested, you can subscribe there and be informed when I eventually post a follow up on these two. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
